notes from the kelp

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Some notes from “Unabashedly,” to accompany this unabashedly loving pair.

Yes, Smudge and Moses’s small contribution to the hallowed tradition of “Friday Cat Blogging” has returned, after a bit of a hiatus. It wasn’t that they were camera shy, but that I was. As has become evident since the start of my little kelp-infested pixelsonic bloglet on January 1st of this year, while I’m not an especially gifted photographer, the paucity of my gifts is particularly evident in my attempts at indoor photography. Unfortunately for my skill set and the neighborhood coyotes, Smudge and Moses (for your score cards, wearing the white and black jerseys, respectively) are indoor cats. Nonetheless, this shot was too cute not to post (only an adoring mother could utter such inanity). Meeeeoow, and have a happy weekend!squirt movies mpegsunset boulevard moviemovies cum swallowmovie sweetest thingtaiwan sex moviesex movies tamilbeast teen moviesteen movies fucking blackthirteen teen moviethe movie pool swimmingweek loan day 3 payhome loan time owner 1sta loan refinancebank america loan mortgageconsolidation debt loans aboutloans ahort termauto online loan abank loans rate home america Map

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“A Delicate Balance,” for this delicate balance.

Who ever thought that steel on the water was a good thing??
Entropy fascinates.

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A little depth from “Deep.”

The first half of our weekend was spent very happily in Santa Barbara; first with a variety of Charles’ work-related colleagues/friends Friday night at a seaside joint with fast-flowing adult beverages and great tuna poo-poos (sounds awful, huh? but deliiisssh) and then lounging this afternoon amidst the sooty ash (see below) on our sailboat enjoying the view from our magical slip (see above). I snapped this shot today in the early afternoon, before the winds shoved the smoke of the now 120,000 acre wildfire toward the coast. An hour later, the air smelled of putrid burning and my eyes stung. It’s being called the Day Fire, but as night continues, vicious Santa Ana winds are gusting between 60 and 75 MPH through the canyon passes and making things very, very difficult for the intrepid firefighters. They are all heroes.

Despite the fire-weather challenges of the environment, the primary reason for our return to Los Angeles County this evening was my desire to attend a very cool house concert in town on Sunday, on which my friend and contrabassoon-tooting pal, Carolyn Beck, will be tooting her way through one of my more interesting pieces, Deep.

From one set of waters, to another. If only my music were a rain dance. My thoughts are with those who, as I have in the past, are gazing from their front door and viewing a looming wall of flame in front of them.

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Eerie.

The Pacific and the coastal highway named after it, 5:40 p.m. today, as I headed home pointing my camera to the windshield at 50 MPH (that peninsula on the far left is Point Dume; Paradise Cove is half a centimeter to its right).

Everyone knows Southern California has its own equinox and solstice, anchored to local seasons: flood, drought, mudslide and earthquake. Most reliable of them all, fire season has now arrived with a vengeance.100,000 acres has burned to the north, the east, and now the west, and many more acres of unsuspecting shrubs and oaks await their fate. Run bunnies, run.

Today the winds huffed the smoke to shroud most of Los Angeles, from downtown to the sea. And Ventura and Santa Barbara county residents view an other-worldly kind of snowdrift on their porches: thick grey-white ash that sticks to every landing. Charles is on our sailboat and reports that she is decorated thus (a strange sight), and until the fires are contained there’s no point in hosing things down.

The sun is red and the sky is a sickly, ominous color that instantly sets one’s senses on alert if they’ve lived here for any notable amount of time. Often flambé itself, Malibu is fine for now, but there’s a connection we feel with others who spend these hours squeezing what they can of their lives into cars and trucks, hoping that the effort will have been unecessary.
Run fire, run. Run away.
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Here’s a calorie-free Scherzo for your weight conscious ears.

Forget about finding a cure for cancer, heartbreak or my husband’s back seat driving. I made the most thrilling and important discovery this weekend, right here at home.
Fat free water.
Yes, that’s right. All along you were wondering just where those few extra pounds were coming from, weren’t you? How could hips the size of Detroit sneak up on you like that when all you drank was Evian? Well, now you know. You were buying the wrong kind of water. Silly you.
Wake up. It’s 2006. Get with the program. Malibu is clearly on the cutting edge of…

…utter absurdity.

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Here’s the middle, floating section of an appropriately titled piece, “Music for Two Big Instruments.”

A few weeks ago when my mind was lost among minor worries while watering the plants on my deck, I became aware of a loud hum approaching from the south. Squinting into the sunlight, I looked up from the pots of palms and colanchoe and was jarred to realize that I was about to be directly under the coastline-hugging flight path of a very, VERY low-flying Goodyear blimp. I stood in amazement as the huge vessel loomed closer and louder and the yellow letters blazed increasingly larger against the blue sky. As the airship neared I could make out every window and started trying to count rivets; the beast was at best 200 feet above my head.

But this was a friendly beast. The pilot must have seen me poised there, still grasping the garden hose (which now looked like some sort of pathetic weapon I was readying to deploy in an effort to protect the homestead from blimp attack). Suddenly enormous bright red LED lights flashed across the side of the dirigible, shouting, “HELLO!”. I waved and smiled. More big red HELLO! followed. I grinned, all the while wishing I had my camera, to capture this unusual close encounter. But I certainly wasn’t about to dash inside and separate myself from the glee of the moment. Connection comes in many odd forms.

A couple of days ago as I sat composing at my desk, I heard a familiar hum. I paused for a few moments while I quickly saved whatever file I was working on, then palmed my camera and headed to the deck. It was a very hazy afternoon, but sure enough there was my fat new friend, much higher up this time, traversing Paradise Cove from the north.

All I can tell you is: imagine the blimp in this image literally four times larger, clearer, and straight overhead, and you’ll have an idea of the impact of what a really big hello can do to brighten one’s day.free anime movie pornmovie free blowjob 89 blowjob 89 movie free spanking movie freefree 89 sex stripper moviestailer porno movies freemovies tencrazycocks.com freemovies virgin freefree voyuer moviesxxx card no free movies credit withmodels 3m teenstories sexy americafreeporno absolutlyporn amatuer camcord adultsex uploads tube you amatureporn 7 secondxxx picks flicks amateur pornanalytical alpha Map

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Reflective notes for reflective sand.

It’s a privilege to have the great fortune to live in a place to which people from all over the world flock during their precious vacation days, and I have always been happy– eager even– to share this beauty with everyone. But I’m as flawed, selfish and human as the next unevolved creature. I admit that once Labor Day weekend has passed, and with it the official end of summer, I exhale in a kelpy sigh of relief that this beach and its denizen (the crabs, anemones and me) are once again left to their own rhythms.

I spend far more time on these sands the other nine months of the year. Malibu’s summer weather is the least compelling of the seasons, and the lowest tides tend to fall during the wee hours of the night, making communing with the exposed sea life rather difficult. Autumn and spring bring a clarity that is endless and stunning, and the intermittent storms of winter, paired with the ebbing afternoon tides, are the best drama around. Summer, by comparison, is a hazy and dull watery view that, while a major improvement over the 100-plus temperatures of the San Fernando Valley just over the hill, offer fewer moments of revelation to those like me lucky enough to be revelated daily.

Summer is a funny annual private benchmark. Each June I gleefully compile an impossibly long list of all the personal music projects I intend to accomplish by September 1st. And each September 1st I am hilariously disappointed by the woefully small number of said accomplishments I’ve been able to check off from my computer desktop’s Sticky Note list. Within the course of my professional work, there seem to be more external demands and requests during the “school year,” thus giving me the perceived luxury of focusing on my own pet projects for a couple of warm months. I don’t think anyone has ever referred to me as unambitious behind my back, and so as you might imagine, the long, inspired litany of Things I Want to Accomplish This Summer would be, to most, a silly and unrealistic daydream. And yet each June, at least to me, that list represents a possible reality.

I did get a lot of things done this summer. Not even half of what was dictated on my list, but then again, had the list been far shorter, perhaps I would have only managed half of that. I’m glad to always have so much I want to do that I’ll probably never get to the end of the Sticky Notes, no matter how many ends of summers I get to see.

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Some funny music for someone’s funny little dog.

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A sketch of a tune of mine called “Longing for You.”

A kelpy visitor who creates beautiful photographs, Mike, commented on the post below: “It is difficult to achieve a feeling of need in a round object. A sphere (composed of an infinity of circles) is complete in itself…. Swivel the view (of the ball) 45 degrees to the left (or right) so there’s a view of the surf/sand margin melting into the distance.”

Okay. Request granted.
It’s always useful to be aware of differing perspectives.
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Can a ball feel wistful?